Incorrigible
by Gmariam
Summary: It's Halloween and the Head Boy and Head Girl are stuck in the greenhouses for detention. Will they escape the clutches of the deadly Devil's Snare…or worse, one another? A lighthearted tale for Halloween, not to be read in the greenhouse.


Incorrigible

I hurried down the corridor, muttering under my breath. I was about to be late for detention. Bad enough to be stuck in the greenhouses working with poisonous plants on a beautiful fall afternoon; even worse to be stuck inside on Halloween, and with the incorrigible Head Boy no less. If I missed the feast that night I'd be sure to make James Potter pay for it, since it was his fault I was even there.

Naturally, as soon as the name popped into my head, the prat himself appeared behind me. He was whistling innocently and grinned as he came up beside me.

"Ready for some horticultural fun, Evans?" he asked cheerfully. I rolled my eyes at him. Herbology was actually my least favorite subject. I could care less about magical plants and their obscure behaviors; I had even dropped the N.E.W.T. class in favor of Arthimancy and Potions. Numbers behaved themselves. You followed the directions and they did what they were supposed to...most of the time.

Potter gave me an exaggerated pout when I didn't answer. "It'll be brilliant. I couldn't imagine a better way to spend detention than cleaning out old fireseed pots and chasing baby Bouncing Bulbs around the greenhouse."

"Are you joking?" I asked, giving him my best skeptical look. "I hate plants. I hate dirt. And I hate putting plants in dirt."

"Afraid to get dirty, then Evans?" he asked with a wink. I ignored the double meaning.

"I just don't like mucking with deadly flowers that have a mind of their own," I replied.

He nodded as if he understood. "It takes some getting used to. Could have been worse, though. We could be cleaning out Potions cauldrons or something equally cruel in the dungeons."

"I happen to like Potions," I said defensively. "And Slughorn happens to like me so I'd take that any day."

"Not me," he murmured.

"And why not?" I demanded.

"I don't like drinking anything that doesn't get me pissed." He laughed at his joke. "Actually, I just don't get how so many different ingredients can interact together and have such bad side effects. Plus I don't like the dungeons—too dark and cold."

I glanced at him in surprise, having just learned something somewhat meaningful about him. "So what do you like about Herbology? Not as many people take it past O.W.L.s."

He shrugged. "My mum was a bit of a gardener. I got my green thumb from her."

"And Care of Magical Creatures?" I asked, curious. I'd been wondering about his odd choice of classes since last year.

"I spent a lot of time outside in the garden," he replied. He nodded as if remembering something fondly. "It was warm and sunny, and filled with all sorts of magical creatures." He shook himself and gave me a sideways look. "So what's with you and numbers and cold, dark spaces?"

Now it was my turn to just shrug as we left the castle and walked down to the greenhouses. The sun was shining, and it was a cool but comfortable day. Quite a few students had spread out around the grounds to study and lounge around before the Halloween feast; here I was stuck with the git from Gryffindor and the detention from hell. I'd much rather be with Remus in the dungeons, or even Peter and Mary in the hospital wing; Black was the only one I'd want to be with less than Potter, and poor Sandra was with him, serving their detention in the Forbidden Forest.

"I was good at maths in primary school, before I found out I was a witch," I finally admitted. "I find it calming. Numbers do what they are supposed to and don't surprise you if you do it right. You can explain them. You can't always explain magic."

He nodded as if he understood, but I doubt he could. He was a pure-blood, after all; he'd grown up in the wizarding world and couldn't possibly understand my perspective.

"Magic is complicated," he admitted in what might have been the understatement of the year. "That's why plants and animals are a nice escape. They're simple. They just are what they are."

I'll be damned: he did get it.

I tried not to stare at him as we walked down to Greenhouse Three. A few students pointed and snickered at us; it was no that secret the entire class of Gryffindor seventh-years had detention on Halloween for getting completely pissed in the prefects' lounge after the big Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. I shook my head, still slightly disgruntled at being caught in the middle of it all. I'd gone in to stop it and ended up in detention with Potter; I definitely had the worst punishment.

"What's wrong?" he asked, giving me a puzzled look. "It's true—plants are straightforward. It's mixing them together that's too complicated for me. Potions is much harder."

"Potions is all about numbers—proportions and such," I replied absently. "But I wasn't thinking about that. I was just thinking of how I ended up here."

We arrived at Greenhouse Three. "You have to admit it was a good party," he said, sounding slightly defensive as he held the door open for me. I sighed as we entered the warm, moist greenhouse; I really hated herbology, the fact that the greenhouses made my hair curl being yet another reason to loathe the subject.

"It was your party," I said as we made our way toward the back. "I just—"

"—drank your fair share," he laughed. "Admit it, Evans, it was fun. It's our last year, we'd just came off a brutal essay and a tough exam, and we needed to relax." He winked at me again. "And we bonded."

I couldn't help but laugh as I remembered Sirius stumbling around the room doing impressions of our favorite—and least favorite—professors. Or Remus pulling Sandra up for an old Muggle dance, or Mary planting a rather large kiss on Peter out of the blue. And James giving me a rather suggestive look that I seriously considered, before we were caught, out of our dorms after hours…

"I'm glad you'll remember it fondly," said a stern voice from behind a large plant. Professor Burgeon, our Herbology teacher since third year, stepped out from behind a bush that was quivering and fluttering about him; it made my stomach turn. He must have noticed the squeamish look on my face, because he raised an eyebrow at me.

"So that's why you're not in my class, Ms. Evans," he remarked. I didn't know what to say. James was watching the plant wrap its thin vines around Burgeon, an amused and interested look on his face.

"I hope you remember this one, Mr. Potter," the professor said, carefully stroking the vine before untangling himself. "I've got some shoots for you to pot this afternoon."

"Yes, sir," he replied, nodding eagerly. "It's a Flutterby bush. Looks like it just bloomed, from the spent tips and over-affectionate nature."

"That's correct," Burgeon said, obviously holding back a smile. "I'd give you points if you weren't in detention." He gestured at a number of branches he'd pruned. "First thing I need you two to do is get these in pots. You'll know how then, Potter. Follow me."

I reluctantly followed as he led us to a large stump. James nodded and gave me another excited look. I vaguely recognized it and didn't think it'd be good.

"Snargaluff pods?" James asked, and Burgeon nodded.

"My sixth-years are abysmal this year. I need more pods before the plants erupt. Get them out."

He lead us to a third plant, which I definitely recognized—and not too fondly.

"Devil's Snare," I murmured, staring at the ungainly pile of vines writhing about on the ground. Whereas the Flutterby bush was at least slightly attractive, the Devil's Snare was just ugly—and smelled bad, too.

"Indeed, Ms. Evans," agreed Professor Burgeon. "And it needs a bit of cutting back."

I couldn't even speak; it made me ill just looking at it, let alone thinking about wrestling it down to give it a haircut.

"Everything all right, Ms. Evans?" asked Burgeon. He sounded both amused and exasperated. James was eyeing me strangely, then nodded as if he understood.

"She had a bad experience with Devil's Snare our first year, Professor," he finally said when I didn't reply. I shuddered just thinking about it; I was vaguely surprised James remembered.

"And that's why you're not in my class, then?" he asked; "Got caught up in a vine as a first-year?" He did not sound very sympathetic. I shook my head, trying to bury the memory of that particular lesson. Detention had gone from a bad dream to a nightmare.

"Didn't fit in my schedule," I mumbled. I tried not to twist my hands and let my nerves get the better of me. But it was hard—I really hated Herbology. I did.

"Well, James is one of my top students so he'll help you out," said Burgeon.

"Great," I murmured. Burgeon gave me a raised eyebrow as he took off his gloves.

"Everything you'll need is in the back. I'm off to Hogsmeade for a few hours. If you finish before the feast, you're free to go. If not, you miss it." He paused and gave us an amused look. "Although I doubt it will be as exciting as it usually is, since you lot are all in detention today."

"Don't remind me," James said, feigning disappointment. "I feel like I'm letting the school down."

"You're Head Boy, Mr. Potter," Professor Burgeon said as he walked out. "You _are_letting the school down. You shouldn't even be here."

The door slammed behind him, leaving me with the git and a hot, humid mess of hair. Potter just stared at the door, an oddly pathetic look on his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Change your mind about the horticultural fun?"

He turned toward me and sighed. "No, he's right—I shouldn't even be here."

"It was your party," I reminded him.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I _am _Head Boy, after all. I probably should have been a bit more responsible."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Are you serious?" I said.

"No, he's with Kettleburn," he deadpanned. It took me a moment to realize the joke even though I'd heard it a thousand times before; apparently he got over his bad moods rather quickly.

"I mean—I didn't think you even knew that word. Responsible." I reached up and patted him on the cheek like a young child. "You're growing up, Potter. I like it."

"I don't," he grumbled, pulling his head away. I grinned: it was rare that I ever won the upper hand with him, but it always felt good when I did.

"All right, if you're the expert, how should we start?" I asked.

"Get the Flutterbys potted before it's too late," he answered immediately. "Come on, all the equipment is in the storage room."

We headed toward the back of the greenhouse, passing all sorts of unusual plants. Each one made me more and more uncomfortable; there was just something about them that didn't sit right. I'd grown used to all the odder things I'd seen in the wizarding world, but magical plants were one thing I still couldn't accept. They were simply too domestic to have minds of their own, not to mention tentacles and teeth; the very idea of a plant that could kill someone was like something from a bad Muggle horror movie.

A cluster of small bushes on the right caught my attention: small spheres of bright orange fruit hung upside down from its branches. I'd never seen one before, and asked James what it was.

"Dirigible plum," he answered, picking a bright sphere and tossing it to me. "Try one."

"It is safe?" I asked, eyeing it skeptically. It would be just like Potter to feed me something that'd turn my hair bright green.

"It's fine, yeah," he said, grabbing one for himself and biting into it. It looked plump and juicy, and I followed his example. It was delicious. I swallowed and took a second bite, but when James grinned at me, I spit it out.

"You're lying." I said. "What's it do?"

"Nothing!" He laughed and took another bite. "But some people do think it helps you accept the unusual a bit more readily."

I glanced down at the fruit and took a large bite. Swallowing quickly, I gave him my best _'So there' _look. "Then hopefully it'll help me get through this detention."

"Oh, Evans, you're hurting my feelings!" He laughed again as we arrived at back of the greenhouse. He tossed me some gloves and gathered the tools we'd need, some of which I remembered from my last class during fifth year and had hoped to never use again. Looking around for some pots, he found a pile stacked in the corner and levitated them behind us as we walked back toward the Flutterby bush.

It was shaking as we neared it; whether it was sad from our absence or excited for our return, I wasn't sure and didn't care. James reached out and a delicate tendril wrapped around his arm. It made my skin crawl.

"Don't worry," he said. He stroked the vine, and it released him. "Flutterbys only bloom once every one hundred years. That's when they try to attract the unwary, but once they lose their blossoms, they're just affectionate little house pets who couldn't harm a Kneazle."

"Until they bloom again?" I asked, eyeing it nervously.

He grinned as the plant moved across his shoulders and down his back. "Then they're a bit more dodgy. Right now it just likes to tickle and explore a bit, that's all."

"Better than getting strangled," I muttered, bending down to set out the pots. I remembered Flutterbys from O.W.L.s now, but didn't feel any less nervous knowing some sneaky plant might come up from behind and start tickling me.

"So what do we do?" I asked.

"Easiest one," he answered, batting away another curious vine. "Just take the shoots, plant them, water them, and set the charm on them."

"What's the charm?" I started filling the pots with dirt as James gathered the shoots.

"_Herbus Vigoro_," he replied from behind me. "Just a simple animation spell."

I felt something brush against my arm. "Bugger off, Potter."

"Not me," he replied. I whirled and batted away vine that had begun snaking its way up my arm. I shuddered.

"It's just curious," James said. "Try petting it."

"You're joking."

"I'm not," he laughed. "Watch."

A curious vine looped itself around his left arm. He caressed one of the bright green leaves, and the thing actually started to quiver. I thought I might have even heard purring.

"It's really rather relaxing," he murmured, his eyes almost glassy. "Sort of sweet."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you sure it's done attracting the unwary?" I asked. He shook himself as he stroked the vine and the plant released his arm.

"Must be some leftover pheromones. Let's get potting." He crouched down and began to work with the shoots. I watched his hands, strong yet gentle, as they scooped out a hole in the dirt, set the shoot in the hole, and carefully covered it. He used his wand to water the new plant, then set the charm on it. Almost immediately the shoots began fluttering around. He was right: it was sort of sweet, like watching a baby take its first steps.

I bent down across from him and set to work on the others. We chatted idly, but mostly worked in silence. Every so often I'd brush a curious vine off my shoulder with another shudder. I caught James staring at me several times and finally raised my eyebrows at him. "What?"

"You really don't like this, do you?" he asked.

"You noticed," I grumbled.

"All because of first year?" he continued.

I stared at him. "I fell into a pile of Devil's Snare and just about died, Potter."

"You survived." He shrugged. "You panicked. Most people would. Now you know what'll happen if you struggle."

"Thanks for the support."

"I don't get why it's soured you on Herbology ever since," he continued.

"I told you—I don't like inanimate objects that can think for themselves." We finished the last shoot, and I stood, wiping my hands on my robes. "Maybe it's the Muggle in me."

James levitated the pots off the path and set them down next to the larger Flutterby bush. It immediately reached out toward the shoots, which stretched toward it, quivering anxiously. He grinned at the new plants, then glanced back at me. "You can't tell me that doesn't warm your heart, Evans."

"It doesn't," I replied blandly. "What's next?"

"Let's do your favorite next, the Snare," he said. He grabbed the tools and started up the path toward a dark corner of the greenhouse. "It usually takes a nap in the afternoon, so it'd be best to get to it before it wakes up."

"You're kidding," I said, feeling sick. "A plant that naps?"

He winked at me. "It'll be fine. Just don't panic if it wakes up. And what does Devil's Snare hate?"

"Me?" I muttered.

"I doubt it," he laughed. "No, it hates light. Fire. Anything warm and bright. Okay?"

"I'll stand back with a torch, then," I said, and he grinned again. He bumped me in the shoulder and a curious tingling rushed down my arm.

"You'll be fine, Lily."

I almost started to relax, until we came to the section of the greenhouse where the Devil's Snare lived. It was cool and damp and utterly repulsive. I groaned just looking at it. Whereas the Flutterby bush had—I admit it—been somewhat cute, this was simply disgusting: a writhing pile of slimy, olive green tentacles that rustled ominously. It did appear to be asleep, however, which leant me some relief. I took out my wand. James glanced sympathetically at me and pulled on his gloves.

"All right—I'll prune, you cover me, okay?"

"Thank you," I said with a nod. "Just be careful."

"Glad you care, Evans," he replied with a roguish wink. He stepped up to the outermost tendrils and began to slowly prune them back. Every so often the plant shuffled a bit and he froze; I held my wand tightly, ready to blast it back at the first sign of movement. I could only imagine it awakening and going on a rampage when it realized what was happening. But he made it around most of the large, ungainly plant, and was just finishing up before it all went to hell.

The Snare gave a large lurch, and before either of us could react, a thick tentacle had us both by the ankles and ten feet in the air. It swung me around so hard I screamed and my wand flew from my grasp. I could see James flailing as he tried to reach for his wand—then heard him swear as it, too, fell to the ground.

A second tentacle grabbed my arm and began pulling me downward. It was dank and dark and all the nightmares I'd had since first year came rushing back to me. I couldn't think, I couldn't even breathe. A third tentacle wrapped itself around my waist and began to squeeze, and I shouted once more, before I was cut off, gasping for air.

I fell into the center of the squirming mass of slimy vines and was immediately entangled: my arms were pinned, my legs were twined together, and several vines wound themselves around my neck. My vision started to go black. I was going to die in a pile of rotten vegetation. The thought made me so mad I fought harder, forgetting whatever James had said about struggling, and the damn thing squeezed me even tighter.

"Lily!" I heard someone shout, as if from a distance. "Relax! Don't fight it!"

I couldn't even curse at him, because my mouth was covered with slimy vines. I gagged, then took a deep breath through my nose, which actually helped calm me. I tried to relax, and felt its hold on me loosen just a bit.

"Hang on, I'm almost down!" he called. I heard a thump and some scrambling, and then felt a great rush of heat wash over me. The Devil's Snare froze and recoiled almost instantly. I opened my eyes and scrambled out of the pile of quivering vines as quickly as I could. I tried to stand, but my legs were so weak I just collapsed and dragged myself as far away as I could. I finally fell to my face and laid there, too stunned to move. I felt James hit the ground next to me.

"Good Godric, that was worse than first year," I finally gasped as I rolled over. I stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. "I hate this place. I absolutely hate it."

James was lying next to me, holding his stomach—and not because he was going to be sick. "What's so funny?" I demanded. "You can't possibly think that was amusing."

"Sorry," he sputtered, gasping for breath. "It wasn't, not really. Devil's Snare is actually quite dangerous."

"Then stop laughing!" I demanded. But he was laughing so hard that he had taken his glasses off and was wiping tears from his eyes. I couldn't help but smile reluctantly. Too soon I joined him; it was more of a reaction than anything else, a release of tension after almost being strangled by an overgrown weed. We lay side by side, giggling hysterically until our laughter was soon replaced by silence, and we just stared at the glass ceiling, too tired to continue quite yet.

I was highly aware of James's shoulder touching mine, a small sliver of heat that set my whole arm tingling. Suddenly uncomfortable in spite of any effect the dirigible plums might have had, I inched away and sighed. He turned on his side and propped himself up on his elbow.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and he sounded concerned. "Are you hurt?"

"No," I replied, "just annoyed." And I was: annoyed that not only had James Potter saved me from a pile of moldy green leaves, but that lying next to him afterwards could actually be so…nice.

"What, annoyed that you almost got killed by a demonic shrub?" He grinned down at me, and I felt my heartbeat increase, yet another thing to be annoyed at: my body responding in spite of my brain telling it not to. But of course that's not what I said.

"No, just annoyed that I'm even here." Except I wasn't—not at that moment.

A quick frown was replaced by a mischievous grin. And then suddenly he pinned my hands on either side of my head and straddled me with flashing eyes "This is your first detention, isn't it?" he asked, his lips close to mine. I felt my breath catch and tried to turn away from him. Instead I ended up with a mouthful of mallowsweet. I spit it out, thoroughly disgusted.

"Yes," I admitted reluctantly. "Thanks for spoiling my perfect record."

"You're welcome," he replied. "Was that your first drink, too, at the party?"

"Of course not," I sputtered. He had to know that; we'd shared butterbeers before, hadn't we?

"Really?"

"Really. Now get off me."

He glanced down and smirked. "First time being pinned by a guy?"

"No."

"Kinky, Evans. Very kinky." He laughed as he rolled off me. I was tempted to pin him back and knee him in the groin, but I settled for sitting up and brushing the dirt from my clothes, the strangely charged moment over.

"We're a mess." I glanced at him critically. He was filthy and his hair was sticking up all over the place. When he saw me eyeing it, he ran both of his hands through it, exaggerating the mess with another lopsided grin. I laughed.

"We're in a greenhouse, Evans. It's a messy sort of place." He stood, and to my surprise, he helped me to my feet. "Told you it might get dirty."

"You're disgusting," I murmured, although he might have meant it literally. I brushed more dirt from my robes as James absently pulled leaves from my hair. "But thanks."

"What for?" he asked. He stopped when he realized what he was doing and tucked his hand behind his back like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

"For saving me from the demonic shrub, of course." I couldn't help it: I laughed again. What a ridiculous thing to admit. Merlin, I hated Herbology. "Now, let's finish this. I need the prefects' bath."

He made a suggestive noise in his throat, and I batted him on the arm. "I mean it. Don't you want to make it to the feast?"

"Not without a prank," he murmured, pretending to sound glum. "It'd be dull."

"Forget the prank— isn't this more fun?" I teased. He raised his eyebrows, hazel eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

"I didn't think you knew the f-word, Evans," he shot back. "Too busy being responsible."

"Oh, touché," I murmured, although he was probably right. Not that I didn't know how to have fun, but that I was usually the responsible one. Someone had to do it, after all, and I happened to be good at it.

"Sorry," he apologized, as if he was suddenly worried that he had offended me.

"What for?" I asked, parroting his words. "You're right, I am responsible. It's not a bad thing."

He narrowed his eyes at me as we headed toward the Snargaluff. It was our last assignment, and I just wanted to get out of there as quick as we could—preferably before one of us lost a limb.

"It's not," he finally replied. "I think it's one of the things I like about you."

"Like about me?" I repeated.

"Sure," he said, shrugging as if he was uncomfortable. "I like that you're on top of things. Makes me want to do better."

"Really?" I asked, still too surprised to say much more.

"Really." He rolled his eyes. "Come on, there must be something you like about me, isn't there?" I just stared at him, silent. His face sort of fell. "Something?"

"Of course," I finally murmured. "You're brilliant with plants, for one."

"You just learned that an hour ago," he pointed out. "Try again."

I laughed, suddenly enjoying the game we were about to play. I couldn't help but wonder where it might lead. "Okay, you're also brilliant at pranks—at having fun. Helps me loosen up when I need to, even if I do have to dock you points. Or end up in detention."

He winked at me. "You're welcome again."

"Your turn," I said.

"I like how kind and understanding you are," he said. "Well, to everyone but me, that is. You really look out for people."

"You're incredibly loyal," I returned. "To those of us you're not tormenting, anyway."

"You're wickedly clever," he said, and he was so sincere it unexpectedly warmed my heart. "And bloody brilliant at Charms."

"And you're great at Quidditch. I really like watching you play." I almost bit my tongue, but it was too late to take it back now. How bad could it get, after all? We weren't the gushing, sentimental type.

He stopped and cocked his head at me in surprise. "You do? I didn't think you even liked Quidditch."

"It's a secret," I replied with a laugh. "Don't tell my friends."

He laughed with me, and we continued down the path together. "I won't. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"I've noticed," I replied, and this time I bumped him. "You've got several you're hiding, I think."

He shrugged. "Maybe. But that's a different conversation. What else do you like?"

I knew perfectly well what he was talking about, but I decided to tease him a bit more. "I like strawberries, almonds, lavender—"

"No, I mean about me," he corrected.

"What makes you think there's anything else?" I countered, pretending to sound confused. He rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Fine. I'll keep going, though. I like your sense of humour, as cruel and unusual as it is sometimes."

I burst out laughing. "I'm cruel? Who thought it would be a fun to wrap the Gryffindor common room in unrippable Christmas paper fifth year?"

"Who thought it would be fun to add an extra bit of gurdyroot to Sirius's love potion last year?" James countered. I remembered it fondly: it had practically been the highlight of the year.

"Who thought it would be fun to teach the school pixies the can-can for the Valentine feast?" I tossed back, still laughing.

"It was!" He slapped his thigh as he laughed. "They were great, you have to admit. Maybe that's why we get along, because you actually appreciate a bit of humour and fun after all."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I appreciate _good_humour and fun, yes. Not sure if that includes yours, though."

"You wound me, Lily, you really do." He sighed dramatically as we approached the Snargaluff. "We're getting along right now, aren't we?"

"Loads of horticultural fun," I murmurmed, eyeing the large stump suspiciously. I sensed our exchange was over for the moment. "So what does that do?"

"Oh, it's a nasty piece of work," James said, grinning wickedly. "Get your gloves on—glasses, too—and I'll show you what to do."

I pulled on my gloves and added some protective goggles, then waited. James geared up and started poking at the stump, but it just stood there and did nothing. I halfway expected it to jump up and swallow him whole, but it just looked like a dead piece of wood. Without warning the center of the stump finally exploded with a mass of writhing tentacles and vines. I jumped back with a shout; James stepped back as well, though with only a nervous laugh.

"I hate that part," he muttered, then turned to me. "All right, you distract it. Keep the vines off me so I can get close enough to get inside and get the pod."

"How?" I asked, my voice an embarrassed squeak. If possible, the Snargaluff was worse than the Devil's Snare.

"Any way you can," he replied, and he sounded very serious, which did not settle my nerves at all. "Ready?"

"No."

"I'm going in anyway." He moved closer toward the stump, and the vines seized him, wrapping themselves around his neck almost instantly; I froze.

"Uh, Lily?" he coughed. "Some help, please."

"Right." I grabbed a trowel and began beating back the vines. One tangled in my hair and I screamed again. I turned around and another grabbed me from behind. This time I swore and began beating them back as furiously as I could. I heard James laughing, but it was working. He was close enough to stick his hand into the large gaping hole in the center of the stump.

Without warning, he yelled and almost disappeared headfirst into the hole. I panicked.

"James!"

He surfaced with a large pod and a goofy grin. "Just kidding. Scared you though, didn't I?"

I was so mad I stopped holding back the vines and let them race toward him. With a shout he jumped out of the way, but he was still laughing. I was shaking.

"Having fun now?" he asked brightly.

"No, no, no," I replied. "Is that it? Are we done?"

"There's more," he replied, motioning toward several more dead-looking stumps. "We've got to get them all or they'll explode, and the poison will kill about half the greenhouse."

I'm sure my face turned green. "Poison?"

"Joking," he replied. "But the thorns would definitely damage a lot of the other plants. All right, you try this one."

He stepped up to another stump and began to get its attention. Almost at once the vines flew out and began waving about. We both stopped, then looked at each other nervously. I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Just reach toward the center," he murmured. "I'll keep them off you." And he must have, because I didn't feel any tentacles in my hair. I heard him grunting behind me, though.

"Reach down as far as you can," he said, his voice muffled. "When you feel the pod, give it a good yank, and it should come free."

I took another deep breath, but the gaping hole in front of me might as well have held a fire-breathing dragon. I couldn't do it.

"Come on, Evans." James swore at a particularly offensive vine. "You're a Gryffindor. And one of the things I like best about you is your bravery."

I turned and stared at him. The Snargaluff vines had taken his glasses and were waving them about. "I'm not that brave."

"Yes, you are," he stated firmly, then pulled out his wand and cried, "_Retardo_!" The Snargaluff kept waving, but in slow motion now, and James nodded in satisfaction as he grabbed his glasses. He turned back to me and motioned toward the stump. "You can do it, Lily."

I turned around, and this time I felt a pair of warm arms wrap around my shoulders, guiding my hands. James's breath tickled at my ear. "Go ahead, I'll help you."

I nodded, and together we plunged into the brown stump. Our combined grip pulled the pod free quickly, and I grinned at the disgusting lump of seed in my hand.

"We did it!" I cried, ridiculously excited, if only because we were one step closer to being done with it all.

"Mm-hm," James murmured, still standing behind me with his arms wrapped around mine.

"Are you okay?" I asked, wondering if a vine had got him. Then I felt a pair of warm lips on my neck, and it wasn't the Snargaluff.

"Did I mention I like your neck, too?" James asked softly. Gooseflesh rippled down my arms as he kissed my neck, and then my ear. I thought about turning around to face him—and either slap him or kiss him, I wasn't sure—but without warning we were lifted off our feet and thrown to the ground. The spell on the Snargaluff had lifted, and the plant had ruined our moment.

"Sorry about that," James groaned from beside me. I wasn't sure whether he was talking about the kiss or being thrown to the ground again.

"That's okay," I answered. "I guess the Snargaluff isn't into that sort of thing."

"What, ripping its guts out?" he asked. Once again he helped me stand.

"That too," I murmured. I ducked my head down and once more pulled some leaves from my dirty, tangled hair. I couldn't look at him, embarrassed to find myself actually disappointed, but suddenly a gentle hand tilted my chin up.

"You did good," James said softly, staring at me with a look I couldn't decipher. "For someone who hates Herbology so much."

I gazed back at him with a rueful smile. "I'd still rather be trapped in the dungeons," I replied.

"Next time," he murmured. I thought he leaned down, closer to me, but I might have been imagining it.

"There won't be a next time," I replied. "This was my one and only detention."

"Then how about a date?" he asked. It was so out of the blue that my eyes widened. He stepped back, obviously thrown off by the shocked look on my face. "What? Can't a bloke ask?"

I just nodded, still too stunned to reply.

"Then, how about it?" he asked again, and this time he did step closer—and I didn't step away.

"I don't know," I said slowly, drawing it out.

"Come on, Evans. We just stuck our hands down the gullet of a Snargaluff and escaped death by Devil's Snare. What's a date compared to that?"

"Boring?" I asked, and we both burst out laughing. When we finished, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around my waist. I didn't resist, and I swear my pulse doubled.

"We could always have a picnic out here," he said, grinning down at me. I shook my head.

"No way. Potions date."

He stuck out his tongue. "Really? That's the only way you'll go out with me? If I mix potions with you?"

"It will be apothecarial fun," I murmured.

"It's dark and damp and it smells funny down there," he complained. "How about next Hogsmeade weekend instead?"

I cocked my head as I thought about it. I finally nodded. "As long as we go to the—"

I didn't finish, because he suddenly pressed his lips to mine. My heart just about jumped out of my chest as I gasped, a breathless tingling sensation running all the way down to my toes. He pulled me close, and my arms wrapped themselves around his neck all on their own. I could feel him grinning against my lips.

"What?" I demanded, untangling myself. I was suddenly very conscious of just how dirty I was; we were both probably a fright. And yet, when I saw the way he was looking at me, it suddenly didn't matter. I'd never thought James Potter could look at anyone like that.

"We can go wherever you want," he murmured, tenderly brushing a strand of hair from my face. I shivered, and it wasn't because some vine was running a tendril down my shirt.

"Then it's a date," I said, and we set about cleaning up around us. It felt both awkward and perfectly normal, to be working quietly side-by-side. I smiled to myself, wondering how such a horrible detention had ended up so…well, perfect.

We put our tools away, checked on our baby Flutterbys one last time, then set out for the castle, walking closely together. It was dark and the castle shone brightly in the night. I could see the Great Hall, lit with hanging jack-o-lanterns and filled with laughing students. James was watching it longingly.

"Do you just want to go straight to the feast?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

I grimaced. "No, I really want to get cleaned up."

"You look perfect," he replied, and I couldn't help but feel a flush of happiness, because he sounded like he meant it.

"I'm a mess," I said instead.

"You're a witch, use your wand," he replied with a wink.

"I'm a Muggle-born. I want a shower." He waggled his eyes at me suggestively; I rolled mine in response, and we walked in silence for a moment. I could feel James staring sideways at me, though, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable again.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, imagining dirt all over my face.

"Like what?" James asked, shaking himself.

"Like…like…" I couldn't put it to words and just waved my arms around. "Never mind."

"What, like a bloke who just had detention with a beautiful girl who agreed to go out with him?" he asked, taking my hand and linking his fingers with mine.

I nodded somewhat sheepishly. "Like that, yes."

"Because I am," he replied. "And you are. And it almost makes up for not having a Halloween prank this year," he added wistfully. I pulled my hand away, pretending to be offended.

"Almost?" I repeated, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Okay, mostly," he teased. He reached out toward me, but I stepped away.

"Mostly?"

"All right—completely!" He laughed, and I let him catch my hand again. He pulled me close and wrapped an arm around my shoulder as we entered the castle. It felt improbably right, and I leaned my head on his shoulder, reveling in the new sensation of being close to him…and enjoying it.

"Thanks for making my first detention bearable," I finally murmured. He trailed a hand through my tangled hair.

"Not to mention dangerously exciting and dirty," he replied.

"That too." I looked up at him. "It must have been the dirigible plum."

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "What about me? I saved you from a demonic shrub!"

I leaned up to kiss him on the cheek in answer. "Thank you for that too. Are you really disappointed about not having a prank?" I asked.

He winked at me. "Maybe I do after all."

"You're the Head Boy!" I exclaimed. "You can't, or you shouldn't, and how could you anyway, you've been in detention all—"

I was stopped by a loud bang from the Great Hall, followed immediately by an explosion of laughter and cheers. James had a wistful look on his face. "Damn, I missed it."

"You didn't," I breathed as I turned around, ready to go back and help.

"I did," he said. He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the corridor—in the opposite direction. I couldn't help it: I burst out laughing as I followed.

"James Potter, you're incorrigible."

"I know."

* * *

End Notes:

I do hope you enjoyed that! I wrote this last year as some lighthearted fun for my favorite couple. I had thought to feature Halloween a bit more prominently, but it got away from me. And for the record, I've taken some liberties here by setting Halloween on a weekend day instead of the Monday it would have fallen on in October, 1977. I had also thought Lily might help James plan the prank, but then he set it up beforehand. And he didn't tell me what he did, either, so there is no sequel—sorry! Happy Halloween!


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